


don't do this to me, kid

by worldofpains



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Basically, Cardiopulmonary Resuscitation, Drowning, Gen, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Torture, Panic Attacks, Possible Character Death, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Trauma, Whump, just pure whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-30 17:32:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17833007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/worldofpains/pseuds/worldofpains
Summary: Tony prayed, and prayed, and prayed, with each exhale, with each push down the lifeless chest.Tony prayed, and pleaded, "Don't do this to me, kid."





	1. Chapter 1

Cold, blue, and soaking wet.

That was how Tony found Peter when he finally arrived at Peter’s last recorded location before the spider suit completely blinked out of his radar. Almost an hour before that, Peter had called the major emergency alert, the one that the kid promised with his whole heart would only turn on at the worst possible situation. Tony tried to put a call through the suit, but Peter had never responded. Since then his tracker had blinked on and off, making it hard for Tony to track down exactly where he was.

Until he’d found the old, rundown apartment building in the middle of fuck nowhere, and Tony had blasted his Iron Man suit through the stained window, nearly collapsing the whole frail building all at once. FRIDAY guided him toward an abandoned apartment room, and then...  

There, in a grimy bathtub filled with murky water, laid Peter Parker. Face down, unmoving, in the shirt he’d worn to school this morning, his spider suit laid a broken, twisted heap on the floor next to the tub, completely fried, the mask staring mockingly from where it laid on the filthy sink.

The sound that wrenched out of Tony’s chest was nearly animalistic. He grabbed the kid by the armpit and dragged him toward the dirty floor, growing sick as he realized just how limp and heavy his body is, when it shouldn’t be–the kid might not be half his size, but he was lean and lithe and it shouldn’t be hard for Tony to maneuver this body out of the tub, until he realized that it was because how fucking stiff Peter’s body is, as if his joints had locked, muscles uncooperative. He turned the small body around and almost vomited.

Peter’s skin was ghastly white, but the color of his slightly open lips was a striking dark violet. His eyes were half open, glazed over, staring unseeingly. There were red marks on his wrists, his neck, a sign of struggle. Tony wondered what kind of force could hold own this enhanced human, wondered if he was drugged. He retracted his helmet and gauntlets into the suit, leaned down his head to listen to the sounds of breath that wasn’t there, laid his hand on the chest that wouldn’t vibrate with a heartbeat, and started to sob.

“FRIDAY, vitals,” he choked.

The accented voice was grim. “No heartbeat detected, Boss.”

“Call for medic.”

Tony tipped the boy’s head back and pried open his stiff jaw. He was about to start a rescue breath when he realized the water that started to trickle out of the sides of Peter’s mouth. It was then that he noticed that Peter’s stomach had slightly distended. He’d swallowed water. The kid had swallowed so much water.

“Continue monitor him. Alert me if there’s any change in his vitals,” he barked at his AI.

Tony tipped Peter's head to the side and carefully pushed down on the boy’s stomach, holding his breath as gurgling sounds came along with more water pouring out of the open mouth. He continued until the amount of water receded, and then shoved his own two fingers into Peter’s mouth to check for any more obstruction in his airway. The kid didn’t even gag in reflex.

Tony pinched the kid’s nostrils. “Don’t do this to me, kid.” He inhaled as deep as he could and exhaled into the stiff, cold, blue mouth. Twice. So cold. Then he interlocked his hands together on top of the boy’s sternum and began to pump down with the heel of his hand. Arms straight, shoulders rigid. Thirty even counts, he pushed and pushed down the lifeless chest. A little bit of water spilled down his kid's slack mouth. His eyes still stared emptily, head rocking gently with each compressions.

After thirty counts, he paused, breathed twice into the kid’s mouth, and barked, “FRIDAY?”

“No change. Continue CPR, Boss.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He immediately started another cycle. Deep and fast–100 beats per minute. Peter's stomach bulged out at every push down the chest, arms twitching at his sides from the motion. There were white froth coming out of Peter’s nostrils and tears down Tony’s face.

“Medic?”

“ETA ten minutes.”

“What the fuck so long for,” he gasped between compressions. He wiped the froth from the kid’s face. That wasn't a good sign. His lungs had completely drowned. Two more breaths into the blue mouth. His cheeks puffed, usually warm with blush from blood rushing when he was excited or embarrassed, now so cold and pale. No change. Restart the cycle again. “Peter, please. _Please_. FRIDAY?”

“Eight minutes. Push a little deeper, Boss. Two inches deep, steady,” she encouraged. 

Tony shook his head and pumped deeper, barely holding in his nausea when the froth spurted out along with the beat of his compressions.The snorting sounds that came with it would haunt Tony for the rest of his life. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I couldn’t find you fast enough. Please, kid, don’t do this to me.”

Peter’s eyes stared back lifelessly. Tony sobbed, and prayed, and pumped. The elder man could feel the ribs shifting beneath the palm of his hand, giving in and recoiling back with every push. Peter’s ashen face was clouded by the white foam and Tony wiped them all away before giving more rescue breaths.

“Goddammit, Peter.” Tony kept pumping down the still chest as he cried. Fatigue started to wash over him, white spots filling his vision and his breaths dragged on. But he couldn't stop. He had to keep  _pumping_ until his kid's heart started to beat again. 

FRIDAY spoke, “Five minutes out. Keep on the rhythm, Boss. My sensors detect that Peter is slowly turning pinker.”

He could only nod as a sliver of hope began to twist around deep in his ribs. As Tony gripped the boy’s jaw and breathed into his mouth, he felt the smallest twitch of the cold lips. He pulled back immediately, watching as the eyelids pulled back a little wider, though his gaze was still empty. Tony waited a beat more, and Peter’s mouth gave another twitch, his darkened tongue peeking through the teeth a little as his neck arched back. It was a strange motion, of his face muscles twitching as if to draw in a breath, yet his chest remained still. When Tony jabbed his fingers under the kid's jaw, he still couldn't find a pulse. 

Tony sobbed. “Alright, kid. Alright, I gotcha. I know you’re trying. Please stay with me, kid.”

“Boss! Start more rescue breaths, now. Medic is four minutes out.”

Tony exhaled into the unconsciously moving mouth, twice. He ignored the twitches, the small sounds of gasps from the boy. He kept breathing and pushing down the chest even when it seemed like the kid's body was fighting against it. The gasps turn into strangled moans, but the violet in his lips faded little by little, but the boy still hadn’t inhaled a true breath, so Tony kept breathing for him.

"How is he, FRIDAY?" 

"He's exhibiting agonal rhythm, Boss. It is still not a good sign, as survival rates are low, but you should keep going. Medic is one minute away."

Peter’s arms had stiffened up, slowly stretching upwards as his neck bent back with every strangled breath his body’s last reflexes attempted. Tony kept  pumping on the rigid chest, keeping the blood flowing mechanically inside the warming body. His arms began to ache and his own breaths had gone heavy, but he didn’t stop. “Come on, Peter! I know you can still fight. I’m here with you, buddy. Please. Please!”

“Medic is here!” FRIDAY yelped.

The medic team burst into the door and began to set up the machines and supplies on the dirty floor. One of the medics kneeled down next to Tony. He began to count his compressions out loud,  _fifteen, sixteen, seventeen--_

“It’s alright, Mr. Stark. Let me take over. Easy, in one, two–”

Seamlessly, the medic took over compressions-- _eighteen,_   _nineteen, twenty--_ and Tony slumped back, holding his burning arms close to his chest as he gave the medics space to work on Peter.

Peter, his kid. Cold and stiff as a corpse, barely a sign of life left in him. Somehow it was worse to watch someone else beat down his kid’s chest, putting a tube down his throat and lines all over his small body. They ripped the wet shirt to place AED pads on his chest, shaking their heads when the long beep signaled the absence of shockable heart rhythm.

He couldn't look away as they pumped drugs into Peter, pumping in air with the ambu bag, pumping his chest with professional calm and rhythm. Peter's chest sunk in and his stomach bulged out of his ripped shirt as his limbs shook and Tony felt acid burning in his throat.

Tony turned around to the corner and heaved. He kept heaving and heaving with sick, every inch of his body shaking with shock. No one glanced his way as everyone diligently cared for his lifeless kid, even as he kept throwing up everything he'd eaten in the past month all over the grimy floor.

"Still no pulse. Resume CPR."

One of the medic rubbed Peter's stiff arms, still stretched out rigidly as if trying to reach for the ceiling. Tony wanted to reach out and hold it, but he was shaking  _so much_ , his own hands pressed against his trembling mouth to hold in the whimpers.  _My kid. My kid. My kid. I should've found him faster. I let him drown, alone, when he needed me. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry._

The medic began stepping back when it finally announced a shockable rhythm, countless of CPR cycles later. The kid’s body surged up, limbs jolting stiffly as the shock went through his heart. Tony whimpered again. They continued compressions as the machine recharged, and shocked him again. The kid’s back arched sharply, just a little, before falling back down. His arms curled inwards with the shock, a slow, stiff movement of dying muscles. They lost the pulse again and restarted the CPR, relentlessly.

Tony wondered if Peter was in pain.

For the first time in a long time, he prayed.

"V-fib! Charging. Get clear."  _Thump_.  _Puff. Puff._ "No change. Charging again, 360. Clear." 

It took one more shock until they finally got a stable enough rhythm, and then they prepared him onto the stretcher, engulfing him in blankets.

Tony didn’t realize he was still shaking and sobbing against the wall until one of the paramedics came to calm him down. “You did good, Mr. Stark. He's stabilized for now. Would you like to come with us in the ambulance?”

He didn't remember getting up and retracting the rest of his nano suit into his arc compartment--FRIDAY probably did it for him. Good girl. He remembered her asking at one point if he wanted to let May know what happened, and also Rhodey in case he went looking for him, and he might have nodded in response. His mouth won't work, and there was fog in his brain.

The female paramedic guided him into the back of the ambulance. Tony was barely standing, his legs shook and his whole being felt like cotton. He collapsed into the seat, staring at the ambu bag over Peter's mouth, still breathing into his lungs.

Tony reached out a shaking hand and held his kid’s limp hand throughout the drive to the hospital, wishing that he was in that place instead of Peter. No one talked to the man in shock, knowing that he wouldn't be able to process it anyway.

But he stayed, and he prayed, when the kid's vitals started to plummet again and the medics began resuscitating him once more.

_Don't do this to me, kid. I’m not ready._


	2. Chapter 2

Tony sat on the chair in the hallway, just outside of the room Peter was being worked on.

He didn't remember the moment that Rhodey materialized next to him, or Happy and Pepper next. He just sat and vaguely recognized the voices of the three people closest to him, but his mind kept flickering back and forth into random places that they couldn't reach. 

Distantly, he heard Rhodey murmuring something about shock, but now Tony was too busy staring at his hands. They were still slightly wet, but what kept his attention was how angrily red his palms were. Why were they so numb and red and heavy? He curled his stiff fingers into a fist. They felt like they'd been stuffed with soft cotton under the skin.

Slim fingers wrapped themselves around his. They were soft, and warm, and dry, so unlike his own. He found Pepper's blue eyes from where she was kneeling on the floor in front of him, but she quickly became a blur.

He remembered warm brown eyes instead, so empty and lifeless, staring at him from under half-closed lids. Tony shuddered and closed his eyes. 

Wrong move. 

As soon as his eyelids dropped shut, he could only see Peter's stiff body, locked in a death spasm as Tony compressed his still chest. A sob tore through him as he bent down on the chair, curling his body so that his head was buried between his knees.

Peter was dead, right in front of his eyes.

Gentle touches enveloped him as he succumbed into a panic attack. This was different than his previous experiences, though. This time the ringing in his ears wouldn't cease. This time he couldn't get out, he was trapped, in a swirl of panic and grief and anger and fear and horror and everything he'd suppressed earlier in order to focus on breathing life back into Peter. His kid, who had died, because he'd stopped breathing. Because he couldn't breathe, because he'd been face down in a tub full of dirty water. Because Tony hadn't been there earlier to pull him out.

There was a prick on Tony's skin, and everything quickly became numb. Mindless. He floated, drifted. Maybe he felt Happy embracing his body as he started to succumb into the effects of the sedatives. Maybe he heard Pepper cry. He couldn't be sure, because he was drifting. Far, far away. Where was he going? He hoped it was somewhere close to Peter. Maybe he could trade places with him then. Just maybe.

 

\---

 

When Tony woke, he wasn't panicking anymore.

But he still wouldn't speak. He was afraid that as soon as he opened his mouth, he would started throwing up again. He was calm, or he looked like it, but Peter's ashen,  _dead_ face was still there every time he blinked. Tony's hands still tremble, remembering the weight he'd put into them as he pumped Peter's chest. He could still feel the ribs giving way underneath his palm. It made him sick, sick,  _sick._

So he kept his mouth closed. Breathed slowly through his nose, the way Peter couldn't because he'd been dead under Tony's hands.

When the doctors walked out of the door to give the news, Tony stayed put. He sat, studying the lines on the white wall opposite him so that he wouldn't see the white froth slipping down the sides of Peter's face. It was Rhodey who sat next to him after, a gentle hand on Tony's shoulder.

"You want me to tell you what the doc's just told us?"

Tony jerked his head into a nod.

"Peter is alive. It was touch and go." Rhodey didn't pull any punches, yet at the same time he was doing it so gently. "They lost him a couple of times more on the table, but he's stabilized for now. There's no telling whether he'll pull through unless he shows improvement in the next 24 hours."

Tony clenched his jaw. The wall in front of him started to blur.

Rhodey's voice was softer now, if that was possible.  "They're saying the prognosis isn't good. They're saying possible brain damage, and that's if he woke up at all. But this is Peter we're talking about. He's enhanced. They're not sure what that could mean for his recovery."

Brain damage. Of course. How long had the kid been without air? He was so gray when Tony found him. His lips a dark shade of purple. He was so cold, the blood had stopped circulating in his body. Even if Tony had helped get his heart beating again, his brain had probably been already dying anyway.

"Tones," Rhodey started, and then pulled his tired body into a hug. "I'm here for you."

He breathed, slowly, both of his hands limp by his sides. He managed to open his mouth once, "May?" 

"Pepper called her earlier and Happy's picking her up." Rhodey made a soothing noise in his ear when Tony started to tremble again.

"My fault," Tony mumbled, mouth pressed into the soft cotton of Rhodey's shirt. "Couldn't... faster."

"Ssssh, none of that, Tones. Rogers and the others are on the case, along with NYPD. It's not your fault. It's never your fault--"

"Should've... sooner..." Tony sobbed once every pain that had numbed down finally tore through.

"Not. Your. Fault. You saved him. He has a fighting chance because of you. Don't do this to yourself, man." Rhodey let him hold onto him tightly as he shook. "You've done everything you could. You did good, Tony. You did good."

 

\---

 

Peter Parker was a scrawny little thing, just a tiny bit taller than Tony had been at that age, but under the blanket and all the tubes and wires and machines surrounding his body, Peter Parker was  _so small_.

Small and helpless. Just a reminder that he was but a  _child,_ that no matter how many his heroic acts as Spider-Man, he was just a child. Not a soldier, just a glorified superhero under a mask that hid the tiny curls on his head, the baby cheeks on his face.

And someone had taken this child, tortured him and left him to drown.

Tony should be pissed as fuck, but he couldn't feel anything. Couldn't do anything other than sit at his bedside, loosely holding the limp hand in his, staring numbly at the green lines on the heart monitor, listening to the raspy sounds of the ventilator breathing for his kid.

Tony was floating, drifting, somewhere else. Trapped in a fog. Nothing felt real.

Peter slept away. His chest slowly rose and fell, in sync with the hissing noises from the machine. There were tubes coming out of his body. One came out of his mouth, taped to the side of his cheek, making his usually bright smile fall lopsided. There were wires coming under his hospital gown, connecting electrodes taped all over his chest. His sunken eyes were shut, his whole face slack and pale.

Tony didn't move until he heard the door open, and he looked up to see. May Parker. A hand on her wobbling lips, eyes full of horror at the sight of Peter, on the bed, dead--

 _No, not dead_. Tony reminded himself. His eyes drifted back to Peter's limp hand. He was just asleep. He wasn't dead... not anymore. Because the doctors had brought him back. Because Tony had pressed his hands down his lifeless chest and forced the still heart to beat again--

Nausea crept up his throat and Tony was lost again. Trapped in that thick fog, where the only thing he could see was Peter's eyes that clouded over with death, where the only sound he could hear was the sickly gasps that weren't breaths, where the only thing he could feel was the coldness of Peter's bloodless lips.

If May was yelling at him for killing her nephew, Tony couldn't hear it. He was lost, so so lost, in a place they couldn't reach, in a place where he couldn't reach Peter. He sat, gone to the world, in a form of catatonia where nobody could touch him.

Tony sat on the plastic chair. Eyes empty, limbs still, slow breaths through his nose. If he was lost in some unknown place, he hoped it was somewhere near Peter. Maybe if he found him, he could bring him back, take him back to May. Trade his slow breaths for Peter's nonexistent one. Anything, anything to let go of the memories of Peter's dead face staring back at him.

He wondered if God would listen, if he prayed. It had been a long time. But he'd do anything... anything for Peter. Anything for the boy who died under his responsibility. Anything for the kid he'd thought of his own. Anything for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll pretend Infinity War doesn't exist. The band got back together a few months after Civil War, the Accords are amended and fixed, it was tough and stressful the first few months that they were back on the Compound etc etc etc, but they made it through and everything was okay(-ish) now. Somewhat.


End file.
